


Anchored

by truethingsproved



Series: Talk revolution to me, baby. [5]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background E/R, F/M, Friendship is Magic, Gen, M/M, THIS ONE'S NOT FUNNY EITHER I'M SORRY, and deals with someone having a stroke, grantaire has a cat named cat, part of this takes place in a hospital, so if that'll upset you don't read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tends to date people who give her the chance to indulge in the most unhealthy aspects of her personality—her desire for codependence, her desire to live fast without much concern for the consequences. But still, she’s blushing while she looks at the serious and sweet pre-med student sitting next to her. He looks ridiculously at ease in her beat-up piece-of-shit car, with the broken plastic of her dashboard and the cracking leather of her seats.</p><p>She dated Montparnasse for a while, a hacker with a fondness for motorcycles and cars and with a golden touch when it came to mechanics, but they’d drifted apart. She even had a thing with Courfeyrac for a bit, but it was short-lived; they are much better friends than they were lovers, even if the sex was fun and playful and exciting. They’d both been partiers, and they’d both encouraged her to partake in her vices in excess.</p><p>Maybe she’s getting sick of excess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchored

There are a lot of things that Eponine Thenardier is lacking but family isn’t one of them.

She doesn’t have the money she needs to be able to afford the school she’s going to, or, more accurately, to afford to pay off the student loans she’s taking out (she almost hadn’t been able to get them, except that Enjolras simply showed up at the bank the day she went to argue with the manager and co-signed on every last loan before she could come up with a good reason for him not to). She doesn’t have a living space big enough for her to live with her younger brother and sister (she’d worry more about them not being able to officially move out, except that Grantaire converted the office in the apartment he shares with Courfeyrac to a bedroom for Gavroche, who sleeps there on a regular basis and tends to bring Azelma with him). She doesn’t have health insurance (she would be constantly stressing over that, except that Combeferre and Joly nurse her back to health whenever she gets ill).

She doesn’t have the boy she loves (and she would hate that, except that she loves Cosette more).

There are times she starts thinking about this and can’t quite stop, like when she comes to Les Amis’ meetings and curls up between Musichetta and Combeferre, or when she climbs into Enjolras’ bed and falls asleep with that smell of blackcurrant that seems to hang around him filling every breath she takes. When Cosette comes home from a night out with Marius and starts braiding Eponine’s hair and huddling close to her. When Jehan writes her poems and slips flowers into her hair on a whim. When Grantaire comes into the café carrying her brother on his back, even though Gavroche is fourteen by now and really doesn’t need to be carried anywhere. When Bahorel walks her home every night, even though she carries pepper spray and a knife.

They’re the only family she’ll ever need.

\------

They’re sitting in Musain when Enjolras gets a call in the middle of a meeting. Normally Enjolras would simply ignore the phone call, but when he looks at the caller ID, all the color drains from his face and he darts outside to take it. Eponine watches after him in concern, but knows better than to try and talk to him when something’s happening; he needs to process it on his own first, before he can process it with anyone else.

Grantaire throws her a confused look and she shrugs. Nothing she can do until Enjolras is ready to talk—and from the panicked look on his face as he stands outside the front of the café, appearing to sink into the window with exhaustion or sadness, she can’t tell, he’s not ready yet.

Instead, she glances uncomfortably at Musichetta, who laces her fingers into Eponine’s and smiles. “He’ll be fine,” she promises. Musichetta’s hand is soft and strong, and Eponine has a brief moment’s jealousy when she considers that Bossuet and Joly get to hold her hands all the time. Eponine tucks her head on Musichetta’s shoulder and clears her throat, hoping to find some way to distract everyone long enough to give Enjolras some privacy.

“So, uh, are we still on for movie night at R and Courf’s place this weekend?”

There’s a murmur of agreement and Cosette cheerfully suggests that they watch a terrible movie with no plot, because bad movies are her favorite movies, and this evolves into a good-natured debate on what movies they should consider and which they should reject on principle. They must be talking for about ten minutes or so when Eponine untangles herself from around Musichetta to slip outside.

Enjolras is sitting on the pavement, ignoring the strange looks he’s getting from passersby, with his head bowed and his hands in his hair. He looks up when Eponine clears her throat and shrugs.

“Dr. Lamarque had a stroke.”

Of all the things that Eponine had expected to hear—another fight with his aunt, a call about some crisis in some city she couldn’t locate on a map if her life depended on it, the library threatening to have his head if he doesn’t stop renewing books six times in a row—this is not one of them. Enjolras’ voice is thin, quiet, and young, and she has no idea how to handle this.

Instead of trying to handle it, Eponine sinks down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He responds to her touch by instinct, lifting his head and releasing his curls to slide a hand into hers and squeeze tightly.

Dr. Lamarque. The professor who, quite literally, changed Enjolras’ life. The reason Enjolras is the way he is, passionate and intense and focused. “How is he?”

“He can’t move the right side of his body and he’s not talking, but he’s… alive.” Eponine squeezes his hand back. “That was his wife. He wants to see me to talk about his classes.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “He’s worse than me, I swear.”

“He is.” Eponine leans over and presses a kiss to his temple. “Come on. Get up. I’ll drive you.”

\------

 **Grantaire:** what’s going on??

 **Eponine:** Dr. Lamarque had a stroke. He’s in the hospital. I’m driving enjolras to go see him now.

 **Grantaire:** combeferre and i are on our way

 **Eponine:** You don’t have to come if you don’t want to…

 **Grantaire:** and let the two of u do this on ur own?

 **Grantaire:** no thanx

 **Grantaire:** we’ll be there in half an hour and we’ll bring coffee.

\------

Eponine sits in the hospital waiting room while Enjolras and Mrs. Lamarque discuss something in hushed tones. Dr. Lamarque is worse off than they’d thought, and Enjolras is patiently translating his adviser’s slurred French to the thoroughly confused intern. When Grantaire and Combeferre get there, carrying coffees for themselves as well as Enjolras and Eponine, she nearly melts into the uncomfortable waiting room chair in relief; Grantaire gives her a careful hug, trying and mostly succeeding to not spill the coffees.

“How’s he holding up?” Combeferre asks, holding out a cup for her, and Eponine shrugs listlessly.

“He’s worse than we thought. Enjolras has been in there for over two hours. He’s refusing to leave Mrs. Lamarque alone until they know more.”

Grantaire frowns. “I didn’t realize he was so close to them.”

“Makes sense,” Combeferre muses, sitting down only after Eponine has. “His parents have never really been good for him. Dr. Lamarque’s something of a father figure for him.”

None of them say what they’re thinking, which is that if Dr. Lamarque doesn’t recover, they’ve got no idea how Enjolras is going to handle it. Instead, they sit in silence, drinking their coffee and keeping their eyes away from one another’s. After a few minutes, Grantaire sighs.

“Ponine, you’ve got an early class tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Yeah, eight AM.”

“Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll stay.” Before Eponine can argue, Grantaire offers her a crooked smile. “I never go to class anyway, and I’m sober right now.” They must look impressed, because Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Go let him know. I’ll drive him home.”

Eponine considers this, before realizing that this is probably the best course of action. She and Combeferre make their way to Dr. Lamarque’s room and let Enjolras know, who just nods absently as if he’s barely listening. Mrs. Lamarque looks up at them tearfully and smiles, though her thin, wrinkled lips are trembling. On a whim, Eponine leans down and hugs her, and the old woman clings to her like she’s a raft.

\------

The drive home is silent. Eponine’s always liked Combeferre—he’s smart, he’s practical, and he’s surprisingly sensitive for someone who spends so much time with such casually thoughtless people. She loves all of Les Amis, but Cosette and Enjolras are her favorites, followed by Combeferre.

He only speaks when she stops at his dorm. “How are you holding up?” he asks softly, and she frowns, looking over at him in surprise.

“I’m alright,” she answers after a moment.

“You tend to have to take care of everyone all the time. You’re everybody’s anchor.” He smiles at her, and she feels something in her stomach flip. He’s got a sweet smile. How has she never noticed how sweet his smile is? “It’s got to get stressful. Listen, if you ever need to talk or something, call me. Any time. I don’t mind. In fact, I encourage it.”

Her palms are tingling, and Eponine nods. “Thanks,” she says quietly, looking Combeferre over. He’s got a mess of auburn hair that he tends to run his fingers through when he’s stressed—considering that he’s taking twenty-two credits this semester, he’s been doing that a lot lately. His hair looks like it would feel good between her fingers. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His eyes are bright behind his glasses, and he’s got the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. It’s a weakness of hers.

Combeferre is fifty shades of not her type. She tends to date people who give her the chance to indulge in the most unhealthy aspects of her personality—her desire for codependence, her desire to live fast without much concern for the consequences. But still, she’s blushing while she looks at the serious and sweet pre-med student sitting next to her. He looks ridiculously at ease in her beat-up piece-of-shit car, with the broken plastic of her dashboard and the cracking leather of her seats.

She dated Montparnasse for a while, a hacker with a fondness for motorcycles and cars and with a golden touch when it came to mechanics, but they’d drifted apart. She even had a thing with Courfeyrac for a bit, but it was short-lived; they are much better friends than they were lovers, even if the sex was fun and playful and exciting. They’d both been partiers, and they’d both encouraged her to partake in her vices in excess.

Maybe she’s getting sick of excess.

Combeferre looks over at her and grins. “I’ll see you later,” he says, and she nods, watching him get out of the car with a sort of attention that makes her blush even deeper.

\------

She texts Enjolras the next morning, after her first class, only to find out that he’s going to be teaching a couple of Dr. Lamarque’s classes. He’s stubbornly insisting that Dr. Lamarque will be fine, that he’ll be back on his feet in no time, and she responds cheerfully, but she’s doubtful.

She’s exhausted, though, so she heads back to her room and crawls into bed next to Cosette, who doesn’t have class until noon and doesn’t plan on moving before at least eleven. Cosette just groans and wraps both arms and legs around her—she’s a goddamn sloth, Eponine swears—before falling back asleep.

When Eponine wakes up she’s got six texts waiting for her. Three are from Enjolras, who apparently really enjoys teaching (“They listened! They took notes!” “ONE OF THEM JUST ASKED ME TO EXPLAIN THE BENEFITS OF ANARCHOCOMMUNISM I’M GOING TO CRY THIS IS GREAT”), one is from Grantaire, and two are from Combeferre, asking how she is and if she managed to get any sleep.

She answers those first, with a silly smile she can’t quite explain.

\------

 **Grantaire:** hey so do we have one of those rules where i can’t hook up with yr ex

 **Eponine:** If you’re finally going to bang courf let me tell you he’s better on bottom

 **Grantaire:** …

 **Grantaire:** no not that ex jesus fucking christ thenardier some of us have standards

 **Eponine:** Well, go for it, but…

 **Grantaire:** ????

 **Eponine:** What about enjolras?

 **Grantaire:** idk what ur talking about

\------

It slips out entirely by accident that day when they run into each other at the campus’ coffee shop, Eponine heading in and Combeferre heading out. They nearly collide, and they laugh, and suddenly Eponine asks, “So, um, are you seeing anyone?”

Combeferre looks surprised, but not unpleasantly so, and the corners of his mouth curl up. “No. I’m not.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

“Good?”

“Good.”

He just laughs again, and there’s the sweetest blush coloring his cheeks. “Why is that good?”

Eponine shrugs, summoning whatever courage and confidence she can find in herself. “It just is.”

“Huh. Okay.” Combeferre takes a sip of his coffee and examines her curiously before asking, “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Good,” Combeferre shoots back, and Eponine bites her lip and laughs and grins and tucks her chin into her scarf to hide her face. “I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” she calls after him, and she just stands there for a minute or so, grinning hugely as she does, before making her way to the line. Her stomach’s still doing backflips when she leaves.

\------

Enjolras spends almost every free moment he has at the hospital, telling Dr. Lamarque everything that’s been happening in his classes, and about how Dr. Valjean sat in on one and told him that he had a real talent and even backed him up to the dean of the college. Eponine brings Mrs. Lamarque to the cafeteria so she can get something to eat and so she doesn’t have to be alone—they don’t have any kids, which is probably why Dr. Lamarque became attached to Enjolras so quickly.

Mrs. Lamarque and Eponine talk about anything and everything except the man lying in a hospital bed a few floors up. She asks about Azelma, about Cosette, about Musichetta. She asks about what Eponine wants to do when she gets out of school; when Eponine says she’s going to go into social work, specifically to work with abused kids, Mrs. Lamarque smiles at her, her face folding into deep laugh lines, the kind you get from a life filled with genuine smiles like that one.

When Eponine brings Mrs. Lamarque back up to her husband’s room, he’s asleep and Enjolras is working on what looks like a lesson plan. And when Eponine goes to leave, Grantaire is sitting in the same seat he always is in the waiting room, waiting for Enjolras.

She asked him the other day why he waits there; he just shrugged. Eponine knows that, regardless of whoever he’s hooking up with, his place is wherever Enjolras is.

\------

She can’t sleep that night, and she tosses and turns until about two in the morning, when, on a whim, she picks up her phone from where it’s resting on the windowsill next to her bed. Before she can talk herself out of it she sends of a quick text to Combeferre, asking if he’s awake.

Eponine is starting to wish she hadn’t when, about four minutes later, he responds that yes, he is. With a small smile, she asks if she’d woken him, and he says no, he was studying.

“Any chance you want a break?” she texts, and a minute later he responds with “YES.”

It’s only when Cosette groans in her sleep that Eponine realizes how loud she’s laughing. “I’m heading over,” she texts back, scribbling a quick note for Cosette before yanking on a pair of jeans over the boxer shorts she sleeps in and an unzipped hoodie over her tank top. It’s not until she reaches the car that she realizes Combeferre texted back.

“I can’t wait.”

\------

Combeferre is waiting for her outside the apartment building, his shoulders hunched against the cold, his hair a mess, wearing a pair of jeans and an old leather jacket that always surprises her, no matter how many times she’s seen it, over another one of his button-ups. His clothes are wrinkled, and he looks tired, but Eponine’s heart jumps a little when she sees him.

He looks at her and his smile takes up his entire face and suddenly she wonders how she didn’t quite notice him this way before, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle just a bit when he really smiles, or the way he’s starting to form smile lines around his mouth, or the way he looks with the beginnings of stubble across his jaw and cheeks.

Before she can start walking towards him he’s walking towards her car, and Eponine chews the inside of her cheek, trying not to grin too much the closer he comes to her. When he gets to her, he just laughs.

“We’re responsible adults,” he observes, and she snickers, holding her hand out to him, and he takes it.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

\------

They drive for probably twenty minutes in near complete silence. Eponine’s sneaking glances at him when she thinks he’s not looking; he must be doing the same because every now and again they both catch each other and laugh and blush and look back out the windshield.

Eponine doesn’t do this. She doesn’t go out in the middle of the night with a boy she only really started noticing a few days ago. She doesn’t practically glow every time said boy looks at her. But here she is, and it’s nice, that as soon as he got into the car next to her he’d reached for her hand. And it’s nice that when she pulls over on the bridge over the river that runs just outside the town’s limits and brings him outside to sit on the cold asphalt he doesn’t question it, just sits across from her.

“Why is it good that I’m not seeing anyone?” she asks after a moment’s silence, broken only by the rushing of water beneath them, and Combeferre just smiles.

He doesn’t blush or shrug or stammer or even pause. He just smiles and answers. “I like you, and I think you probably like me back, and if you were seeing someone I’d be bound by basic decency to respect that, but since you’re not I can tell you that I really, really like you.” They sit in silence again for a minute while she thinks this over, her cheeks flushed and her lips curled up in the silliest smile, before he nudges her foot with his. “How about you?”

“What do you mean, how about me?”

“Why is it good that I’m not seeing anyone?”

Eponine grins. “Because you’re right.”

“Oh?”

“I like you back.”

Combeferre’s smile is honestly one of the sweetest things she’s seen in a long time, and he nudges her foot with his again. “Good,” he says, and she nods, her smile matching hers.

“Good.” Then, emboldened, she asks, “Can I kiss you?”

“You definitely can,” Combeferre laughs, and she leans forward to press her lips tentatively to his, except it’s not quite so tentative and for someone who really only wears solid-color button-up shirts and orders regular coffee at Starbucks, he’s one hell of a kisser.

\------

 **Grantaire:** hey, u busy?

 **Eponine:** No, why?

 **Grantaire:** movie night, jackass. my place. don’t tell me u forgot.

 **Grantaire:** oh no u forgot didn’t u

 **Grantaire:** how could u forget me ep i’m weeping

 **Grantaire:** WEEPING

 **Eponine:** Shut the fuck up i’m on my way

 **Grantaire:** xoxo gossip r

\------

Cosette and Courfeyrac have a running sarcastic commentary of the movie they’re all watching, which Marius occasionally interrupts indignantly. Grantaire and Enjolras are texting even though they’re in the same room, and Enjolras keeps trying to look exasperated but can’t quite stop snickering and grinning, and when Cat walks by, he actually reaches down to scratch behind his ears—Cat, for the record, doesn’t try to maim him. Jehan is writing in his journal while Musichetta braids his hair and Joly and Bossuet, sitting next to one another on Musichetta’s other side, cuddle and kiss every now and again. Bahorel and Feuilly are taking bets on who’s going to die next, and Combeferre’s got his fingers laced into Eponine’s.

They’re her family, she muses, shifting closer to Combeferre, who keeps looking at her with tiny smiles as if he keeps rediscovering her next to him, and he unlaces his fingers from hers to slip his arm around her waist. She really can’t imagine a better one.

**Author's Note:**

> HI.
> 
> -I'm going to scream because you're all actually the best because look at these beautiful graphics  
> -http://tazioparrish.tumblr.com/post/41679500901/a-les-mis-verse-by-duskolras-ao3-link-x and http://jehanprouvaired.tumblr.com/post/41734078993/shed-met-joly-while-traveling-one-summer-and  
> -screeching  
> -you're all perfect  
> -I got bored and uploaded my Eponine playlist http://8tracks.com/truethingsproved/eponine  
> -Someone asked me a wonderful question about Les Amis and their tattoos and the answer can be found here: http://duskjolras.tumblr.com/post/41764463089/someone-asked-me-the-best-question-on-ao3-so-if  
> -If you want to make graphics please tag 'em with 'duskjolras' or 'talk revolution to me baby' in one of the first five tags so I can see 'em, or link me to them, because these seriously make my day and I tend to gush about you to people who really don't care about Les Mis  
> -k love you guys thanks for being flawless <3<3<3


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